


On Warmth and Wild Flowers

by nostalgic_breton_girl



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26950912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgic_breton_girl/pseuds/nostalgic_breton_girl
Summary: Talvynea has recently joined the Imperial Legion, and, accompanying Hadvar to Solitude, learns there is more to Skyrim than she assumed.
Kudos: 3





	On Warmth and Wild Flowers

Hadvar and I were scarcely two miles out of Windhelm, and had not discussed anything beyond the strictly businesslike, when turning to me, and adopting a more genial tone – a broader accent, perhaps – he asked of me:

‘How are you finding Skyrim? – You’re a newcomer, I hear?’

‘I’ve been in the Grey Quarter four months,’ said I: ‘I’m hardly wet behind the ears.’

‘Ah! knowing Windhelm isn’t knowing Skyrim,’ he said.

‘From what I have heard of Skyrim,’ I ventured, ‘and from what I have seen, I gather it is cold... cold, and unforgiving.’

At this he laughed, quite merrily. ‘I hear that a lot... can’t say there isn’t a bit of truth in it. But... maybe we can change your mind about that, eh, Auxiliary?’

It was quite bizarre, to hear him say such a thing, when there was snow all about us, and with wisps of hair frosting at the edges of his Legion helmet: but there was a new tone in his voice, when he began to talk about himself, and about Skyrim. He was Skyrim born and bred: could not help but fill the many gaps which I yet retained, for, he said, Windhelm was not the archetype of the province – its high forbidding walls were not imitated elsewhere, and it was not quite so cold...

He was Skyrim born and bred: knew a Skyrim beyond what was propagandised, on both sides... Knew a Skyrim beyond the imperious Cyrodiilic tones of the woman who had recruited me, trained me: saw something quite remarkable, beneath the ice. He had joined the Legion out of love for the place, for this dream, he told me: had joined the Legion, that those who wished to bring a blizzard upon Skyrim, an iron fist, might be quashed; that the warmth he knew might return, nay, not return, be revealed once more.

Skyrim, said he, should welcome you, as it does all its sons and daughters: that you have received a cold and unforgiving welcome is not Skyrim at all, it is the Stormcloaks...

And he spoke, for a good while: deeper into his motivations, into the Skyrim which he loved. He was from a village to the south, he said, Riverwood, a wooded valley between mountain and glistening river, and by the gods, if I had been introduced there to Skyrim, and not Windhelm, with what admiration I should regard it now!

‘I understand it is rather less snowy, in other holds,’ said I.

‘You’d almost think you were in Cyrodiil, down in Falkreath,’ he replied: ‘hardly snows at all, even in winter; I don’t remember the last time Illinata froze over; it’s woodland, and green pasture, the lakeside, scattered farms; and wildflowers...’

It was so far from the Skyrim I had seen – so far, indeed, from my native Solstheim – that I could scarcely imagine it; I had seen paintings, before, of Cyrodiil, and warmer parts; had not quite believed that a land might be so bright and flourishing.

And wildflowers, really, in all this snow! –

But we had scarcely been riding a few hours, and Hadvar had been telling me all sorts of things about Skyrim which I was not sure whether to believe, when I noticed that the snow was almost gone from the wayside, and that the skies were clear, a clear sky such as I had rarely seen in my life. I was quite dazzled by the sunlight, and so did not realise, for another short while, that before me was not a vast white expanse of snow, low-hanging clouds: but we were coming up to the lowlands, there were trees on the horizon, and beside the road, valiant, was a cluster of dragon’s-tongue.

The flowers were so bright, and so merry, and so quite unlike the thorny snowberry bushes, that I near halted my horse, that I might take a closer look; and though I did not stop, I was again assailed several minutes later, by a blanket of flowers, dainty things in summer colours, which invaded the land as the snow did, further north. And Hadvar caught my surprise, chuckled.

‘Told you it wasn’t all like Windhelm,’ he said: ‘and look at that, the sun’s coming out.’

‘The sun, indeed,’ said I: that improbable warmth!...


End file.
